The moment Bren died, Alex felt a sharp fluctuation of magic.
He didn't know Bren carried an artifact that monitored his life force, but the device reacted the instant the man's heartbeat stopped. Sensing something was wrong, Alex vanished with Water Scape, slipping like a silver thread through rain-dark streets.
Seconds later, Bren's guards burst into the room.
At the sight of the trembling girl, the nearest guard barked, "What the fuck happened!?"
She was half ecstatic, half paralyzed with fear. Relief that Bren was gone warred with dread at what the guards might do to her if she didn't cooperate.
"I—I don't know! A hooded man in all black attacked Bren through the window. It didn't look like a lethal hit, but he collapsed a moment later. P-please, don't hurt me!" she pleaded, voice cracking.
One guard cursed and leapt through the open window, pursuing the shadow that had slipped away.
The other knelt beside Bren's body while the girl retold the scene. He inspected the wound: small, shallow, but the blood around it darkened oddly, tinged with something that looked like sediment.
He reached toward the wound with his bare hand.
"Don't touch it!" the girl cried out.
The guard scowled. "Why?"
"One of my parents works for an alchemist. I know a little—by the way he died, I'm sure he was poisoned," she stammered, every syllable an attempt to curry favor.
The guard's expression hardened. "Did you see the attacker's face?"
"Y-yes. He stared at Bren as he died."
The guard produced a voice-recording artifact and held it near her mouth. "Describe everything. Now."
Outside, the other guard sprinted along the rooftops, eyes sweeping the rain-slick streets for movement. His communicator crackled; his companion relayed the girl's description in a rushed whisper.
Now they had a portrait to hunt.
"What about the girl?" the rooftop guard asked into his device.
"She's been dealt with," came the cold answer. Loose ends weren't welcome; they had to keep Bren's death contained until the killer was caught.
The rooftop guard bounded on, then saw a lone figure moving through the downpour. "There—he's that way!" he yelled, and the chase began in earnest.
Alex had not wanted to run. Sprinting in black clothes through empty streets screamed guilt and flight. But as the magical pulse of dudes closed, he glanced back—two silhouettes closing fast—and started to run.
He hadn't even reached fifty meters before a wind spell screamed past his ear. A blast of cold air shaved by, and then another one struck the space he'd just vacated.
He threw up Water Shield, pouring every last reserve of steady mana into it. Tier-two magic was on another level altogether; the attack was brutal.
The spell slammed into his shield and pierced it, blasting Alex backward into a stone wall. Pain punched through his ribs and back; he tasted iron.
Gasping, he triggered Water Scape, transforming and sliding away in a ripple of liquid. He rematerialized some twenty meters down the alley and fumbled a healing potion from his pocket watch, downing it in a single, shaky swallow. The potion's warmth spread, knitting pain into a dull throb.
His bones had taken a beating. The gap between him and the guards was huge.
He launched Water Scape again, stretching its distance to the limit, but the guards were faster, their steps landing with the precision of trained hunters. On reappearance, only one guard was visible, but Alex didn't have time to think when a lightning bolt screamed in from the dark.
Alex slammed up Water Shield once more, driving it to its threshold.
Water was usually a counter to lightning when used defensively, but this time the water neutralized some of the lightning's force, but not all; the overflow struck him, blackening his clothing and singeing his skin. The shock of electricity left him numb and burning.
He bit off a curse and fired a Windslicer barrage at full output — not to win, but to buy time. Wind blades shredded the air and tried to force the attacker to divert.
But he had miscalculated. Tier-two mages often could manipulate five elements; these men were no exception, and they could multicast. A voice taunted him in the rain. "Hah, mongrel!"
The guard responded with a dual cast: Ice Fortress and Wind Punisher launched together, the air snapping with both cold and force. Ice erupted into a jagged barrier as a second wind storm drove shards and pressure into Alex's flank.
Alex threw his body sideways, an animal instinct taking over, and the wind strike slammed into the cobblestone instead. Even so, splinters of force battered him as he tumbled, blood hot at the corner of his mouth.
He had to stop thinking of trying to face the guards; he wasn't strong enough. He had to escape.
Water Scape again—he dove into a drainage channel and slid through the narrow, fetid passage like a fish down a steel vein. The world above blurred to muffled thunder and the hiss of rain.
Eventually, he had to climb back into human shape. He pushed up through a grate and spilled into a deserted service alley, lungs burning, limbs trembling. 'Safe for now,' he told himself, though his vision still swam.
He forced two potions down—one to heal, one to fill his mana—then continued, moving by shadow and habit. He kept to the periphery, not daring to slow.
He kept moving, each step a calculation: where could he be cornered, which drains let him vanish, which roofs could be climbed if necessary. The city was suddenly a map of lifelines and traps.
Not long after, he cut through an alleyway he'd mapped earlier. It was narrower, lined with stacked crates and the tang of rotting produce. When he stepped out the other side, he froze.
A pair of boots stood framed at a distance away from the alley—a multitude of figures blocking the street. Rain blurred their outlines, and between them, a torchlight painted everything in washed gold. Alex realized, with cold clarity, that the net had closed tighter than he'd hoped.